


That Strikes Relentless

by cloverfield



Category: Tsubasa: Reservoir Chronicle
Genre: Battlefield Violence, Erotic Electrostimulation, M/M, Maintaining The Spark In Your Relationship, Resettling Suwa, magic use during sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-31
Updated: 2019-12-31
Packaged: 2021-02-27 03:18:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,418
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22130143
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cloverfield/pseuds/cloverfield
Summary: Even now, the spark remains.
Relationships: Fay D. Fluorite/Kurogane
Comments: 6
Kudos: 34





	That Strikes Relentless

**Author's Note:**

> I dreamt this, and then I had to wake up and write it.

The first time Kurogane sees it, it’s not sex that comes to mind. Not _sex_ that speeds his breath, thunders his pulse; the battle-born magic of the man who will be his Priest-Consort is enough to tighten his blood with awe as he watches it crackle from rune to rune. Lightning roars from Fai’s fingertips with every striking gesture, bright-hot bolts that flay demon-flesh and rain ichor across Suwa’s once-scorched soil in thrumming waves.

It’s not sex Kurogane thinks of as Fai stands in the ruins of Suwa’s castle, fair and fearsome and fierce with beauty, and all the beasts of his nightmare youth are burned to nothing against the storm of that power - but oh, it might be _love_ , each lashing coil that whips destruction at Fai’s command squeezing about his heart with chains of hard-won adoration, enough to make his fingers tighten on Ginryuu’s hilt as Kurogane grits his teeth against the heat that knots in his gut.

But now’s not the time for that, not as Fai earns the terror and awe of Her Majesty’s Legions, the hardest warriors Nihon commands staring in silence - and then crying out with ringing shouts of admiration - as Fai dusts one hand against the other and declares himself finished, the ashes of his conquest flaking in the dawn breeze as one night of war against the demons that had bred in the shadows of Suwa’s ruins burns them clean beneath the sheer unstoppable force of that power.

Kurogane wipes sweat from his brow, and the lick of blood from cracked lips is an iron-dark reminder of how hard the battle was fought, of how deep a wound might cut - but time and trial and the strangest, most fantastic journey a man might ever make across the winds of fate have burnt him clean, and if the healing was slow this man has no small part in how it happened. There’s no pain in the steady step he takes onto soil that is, now and again, free from the demons of his past.

“Alright, Kuro-sama?” Fai’s voice is a lilt, a breathless tease even with magic burning in the blue of his eyes and steaming on his breath, his hair dark with ash and the tremble in his shoulders a sign of the strain it took from him to become a star, burning away the dark with such terrible power. “What would you have done without me, hmm?”

“Won,” says Kurogane bluntly, because he _would_ have - but not so beautifully perhaps, not all at once in a single, brilliant strike. And as Fai opens his mouth to protest, laughter glittering in his eyes, it’s easy to swoop down on a kiss, seal his lips shut in the moment and feel the breath that sighs, slow and sweet and simmering with potential as Fai yields, hands fluttering about Kurogane’s shoulders but steady in their hold, a promise made that cannot be broken.

It’s after all that - after the battle, after the building, after the reconsecration of bloodied ground, after vows spoken by moonlight with three sips each taken from three sacred cups - _months_ after, that once more it comes to mind, and _this_ time there is nothing at all to keep him from indulging.

“Alright, Kuro-sama?”

Oh, that voice is _dark_ \- dark with love and heady with power, the throaty rumble of Fai’s magic in every syllable, dripping and hot; it burns in his touch, each stroking fingerprint stinging with prickling heat as his hands loop tight about Kurogane’s wrists and pin them to the futon. Clever hands, and the lightning they command more brilliant still, bright-hot where it twists and hums in thin ropes, untamed but perfectly controlled beneath the stroke of those scarred fingertips.

Kurogane sighs a little, lets himself go; lets himself sink down into the heat that rises up, that slow-burn simmer of hours and hours telling himself he doesn’t need this when he very much does, and the sear of Fai’s touch tightens once as a reminder to keep his hands where they are bound.

“I need to hear you say it,” says Fai, amused, and not a little aroused. The tells are obvious when you know to look for them, the gold ring around blue, _blue_ irises; the taut cords of the tendons in his neck and wrists; the restless flutter of his fingertips as they spark across bare skin in fleeting touches.

“Yes,” says Kurogane, and then “Yes!” _groans_ Kurogane, arching in a shivering sweat as Fai’s power swells, electricity crackling in lightning bursts from the hands that brand his chest with fingers spread. Fai snarls a grin, white teeth bare and sharp where the vampire blood never truly left him, and it’s that predator’s smile that cuts deepest, the threat and the delight at the thought of how easy Fai could tear him open with a single snap of that fierce smile across the tender length of Kurogane’s throat.

Fai’s magic is a storm on his skin, burning in spidering threads that twist and crackle and sear without a single mark. Heat cracks his bones and breaks his breath, Kurogane left panting beneath each rolling surge.

Fai’s hair is soft enough to shimmer, floating about his shoulders with the magic he calls, pale by the lantern light that dances over him; it glows on his skin, blue-white and simmering in rippling waves - but the power he pours over Kurogane is not so gentle, fierce and lovely, each sharp lick across the body that lies bared for him dancing the razor-edge between _too much_ and _not enough_.

Kurogane’s shoulders creak with the force of keeping himself still, the muscles in his back burning with exertion; one leg jumps as Fai forces it down against the futon, fingers tight as they dig into Kurogane’s thigh, and for a moment the wide net of Fai’s magic narrows to a single striking fork that spears him through the gut and makes him shout.

“Oh, not yet,” says Fai, and his hands are gone: his power flickers out as though it never was, and Kurogane's skin _stings_ beneath that sudden lack of stimulus. “Not yet,” Fai warns, and it takes a minute of gasping for breath to fight back against the black spots blooming in his vision for Kurogane to find something like composure.

The rustle of the bedding as Fai moves is what Kurogane fixes his senses on, left half-blind by the desire that hums in his blood like a circuit broken, and when the soft, static-hot touch of magic coils about his ankles to urge his legs apart, Kurogane doesn’t fight it. Only chokes a heaving gasp when Fai sinks to his knees between trembling thighs, his hands heavy on the gut that rolls and trembles under the utter surety of that touch.

“Now,” says Fai, and it comes as the strike that makes the kill: sharp and clean and _singing_ , a bolt that pierces heart-deep in a single flash to break Kurogane open.

He can’t say how long it takes to bring him down, can’t say how high he soared - can’t speak at all through the throat that pinches with a scream torn loose, his hands trembling as Fai’s magic slips free the knot that holds him down. But Kurogane is still trembling with the heat of it as loved hands stroke to soothe, each grounding touch a mirror to the burn that lingers hot beneath his skin, and it is many, many kisses later that he finds his breath at last.

“There we go,” sighs Fai happily, a heavy weight in the arms that rise and shake about his back, all strength gone to pleasure-drunk weakness. “There you are. My Kuro-sama, my _husband_ , my love.”

Kurogane’s chest rises with a staggered groan, and his hold seizes momentarily tight; Fai bears the squeeze with a good-natured grunt, tickling a kiss against Kurogane’s shoulder as he is crushed into an embrace.

“Thank you.” It’s hard to say, a tightness in his chest that comes not from sex or magic, but the sigh Fai makes as he yields at last - _his_ mage, his _love_ , the blade at his back and the hand that holds his own - is so perfectly content the effort is more than worth it.

“Oh, don’t thank me,” laughs Fai, and mischief smokes his voice to a dark and whispering smoulder. Gold flickers in blue eyes, the lightning strike that calls the thunder. “After all, I never said I was done with you _yet_.”

**Author's Note:**

> Let's be real, here: there is no way these two aren't as kinky as fuck.


End file.
